


More at 11

by PaperHatCollection



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 15:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13592799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperHatCollection/pseuds/PaperHatCollection
Summary: You don't mess with family. More importantly, you don't mess with THIS family.





	1. Back to you, Jim

**Author's Note:**

> Shortly after the events of WKM, a broken Will was found by the Jim's who took him in as one of their own and taught him the art of investigative journalism. That and yelling really loudly about any suspicions you have.

“Ready, Jim?” Jim asked, beaming at his camera-wielding counterpart. Rather than answer, Jim gave a thumbs up and started to count down from four. That was pretty impressive considering one hand was supporting the heavy camera, and the other was holding an umbrella above his head that seemed a little useless considering both he and the camera were each wearing a tarp to keep themselves dry.

Rain was coming down around them in sheets, pooling faster than it could flow down the storm drains and creating little rivers down the streets. Jim couldn’t help but smile at that accidentally rhyme he’d just thought of, which was handy considering he was about to be on screen. Speaking of which, the moment Jim’s last finger curled back around the handle of his umbrella the little red recording light on the camera blinked on. 

“Thanks Jim. As you can see behind me, it’s currently 6:23 at night.” Jim reported. Behind him, he could hear the crack of lightning following behind a flash of light that illuminated the empty streets. Most people were staying indoors during a storm such as this. “We’re here live, currently investigating a tip that the perpetrator who has been stealing stop signs from innocent street corners plans to strike here tonight. We’ll keep up updated on any progress made. For now, back to-”

Another crack of lightning illuminated the figure standing behind Jim, and the long shadow of a bat ready to be swung. 

“JIM, DUCK!” Jim yelled, moments too late. The bat made a loud cracking noise as it connected with the back of Jim’s head, sending him- and the camera crashing to the ground. 

 

\-----

 

Wilford stood the moment the screen turned to static, before it even cut back to Jim in the studio. It was fast enough that his chair clattered onto the ground behind him and the house of cards he’d been building collapsed onto the table, some of them even falling onto the floor.

The other egos in the room, who had been staring in shock at the television screen, turned their attention to Wilford at the sudden noise. By that point, he was already heading out the door. The door hadn’t even shut before he had his phone out, texting the studio to demand which street the Jims had gone to. It couldn’t have been in a city other than this one, or they’d have needed his permission for that, and this was the first he was even hearing about a so-called tip (all tips were supposed to be run before acted upon anyways). 

He didn’t know what expression was on his face, but it was enough that both Dr. Iplier and Ed Edgar got out of his way the second they saw him coming down the halls, the latter even ducking into a room to avoid him.  It didn’t help his mood that he wasn’t  _ getting _ the information he needed  _ fast _ enough. He needed to know their locations and he needed it n-

The idea hit him so suddenly he questioned how he hadn’t thought of it before. But of course he thought of it, Wilford Warfstache always came up with the best ideas. Turning on a heel, he headed to the meeting room where Dark had specifically said he was not to be disturbed. Wilford didn’t know what they were discussing or how important it could possibly be, but also he didn’t care. 

“Warfstache bursts through the doors, interpreting Dark and bringing attention to himself.” the Host narrated as those exact events unfolded. “Dark drags a hand down his face in annoyance while grumbling to himself about ‘Wilfords lack of tack’. Wilford ignores him and the Host, his attention only on Google who has failed to respond in any way other than glancing at Warfstache when he had burst into-”

“Okay, Google.” Wilford said, louder than the Host’s muttering. At the command phrase Google immediately stiffened, his primary objective kicking in. “I need the location of Jim and Jim’s phones- the reporter and camera ones, ASAP. And make it snappy.” Wilford commanded. As per his request, Google made a beep sound as he presumably began the search. 

“What do you think you’re  _ doing _ , Wilford.” Dark asked, the question phrased more like a command.

“Eh, don’t worry your pretty little multicolored head about it.” Wilford answered, brushing Dark off with a little wave of his hand. He could feel Dark’s aura crackle with a sudden spike in his anger, but paid him no mind. Google, having finished his internal task, projected a little display of Google maps in front of him, twin dots overlapping each other over a picture of a house. 

“Perfect!” Wilford clapped his hands together in front of him. “Now the address Google, and that will be all.” 

 

\-----

 

“You ruined  _ everything _ .” The man snarled, pacing back and forth across the floor of his basement, thunking the bat into the palm of his hand over and over. “You always get in the way- sticking your noses where  _ real _ journalists know it’s better to leave things alone.”

Jim made an offended sound at that, but he couldn’t really say much with tape over his mouth. But it did make the man stop, glaring at the Jim as if his mere presence was an insult. “Do you  _ ever _ shut up?” the man grumbled. “How the hell you convinced  _ anyone _ to give you a time slot on tv is beyond me…” 

Shrugging, Jim’s eyes darted behind the man, to where Jim had been tied up and dumped against the wall. He was still unconscious from being hit over the head with bat, and all Jim could do right now was hope there wasn’t too much damage. That, or that at the very least Dr. Iplier could help him. Someone would come for them- the attack had been live, after all. 

He was so distracted, he didn’t even see the first strike coming. The bat hit him on one side, smashing against his arm and sending him crashing to the floor. He yelped against the tape, struggling to push himself away before the second blow landed on the same spot, followed by the crack of bone. Tears sprung to Jim’s eyes as the man huffed and brought the bat back to his the palm of his hands. 

“You didn’t  _ even _ mean it, that’s what’s really upsetting here.” the man mused. “You  _ lucked _ into that discovering our little drug trade, you didn’t even  _ mean _ to bust us.” the man spit the words like venom, glaring at the Jim below him. “Just an annoying little  _ pest _ that got in the way.”

The man pulled one leg back, slamming his foot into Jims stomach before raising the bat above his head for another swing. Jim shut his eyes, attempting to curl up in some vain attempt to protect himself. 

Instead all he heard was a gunshot and the clattering of the bat hitting the floor. Jim opened his eyes, just in time to see the man pulling a blood hand away from his chest in shock. Another gunshot sung out out as a bullet struck the man’s chest, causing him to stumble backwards and onto the floor. 

Wilford stepped into the room, his eyes darting between Jim on the floor and Jim against the wall. His expression darkened as his gaze returned to the dying man, stomping forward and grabbing the same bat that had been used on Jim. Wilford slammed his foot against the man's chest, bringing the bat up above his head in a way that mirrored what the man had been doing mere moments before. 

He brought the bat down a good five or six times before he stopped, breathing heavily and chucking the bloody weapon aside. The man wasn’t moving anymore. Shaking his head to clear some of his thoughts, Wilford turned back to the Jims.

“I got here as soon as I could- how you holding up, Jimmy my boy?” Wilford asked, trying to stay positive. Even with the tape over his mouth, it was pretty clear Jim was happily beaming to see him. Leaning down, he pulled a knife out from the stab on his teigh so he could cut through the zip tie around Jim’s wrist and helped peel away the tape over his mouth. 

“Ow ow ow ow ow- Tha- thanks Pink Jim.” Jim said, and then immediately followed with, “Is Jim okay?”

Wilford turned and half crab walked, half rushed to the other Jim, cutting off his zip tie. He seemed perfectly fine, minus a bump on his head. “Oh, it’s nothing he can’t walk off.” Willford promised. Glancing back, he noticed Jim holding his broken arm as he stood. “And lets get you to Dr. Iplier.” 

Jim nodded, still looking more concerned for the Jim that Wilford picked up than himself. 

 

\-----

 

“Jim will be fine- I’ve set his arm in a brace. It was a pretty clean break, so the most we can do now is wait for it to heal itself.” Dr. Iplier explained, tapping something on his clipboard. “I can safely presume that he is  _ not _ dying.” 

“Thank you, Doc.” Wilford glanced behind him, where Jim was laying in the hospital bed. After camera Jim had woken up and been cleared to go home, Bim had taken him back to studio Jim. It didn’t look right to see a Jim by himself. “Anything else I should know about?”

“That’s about it- we’ll have to see how he reacts to the experience once he’s had time to settle and the Tramadol’s out of his system.” Dr. Ipler glanced back, shrugging. “For now, we should give him some peace.”

“I wanna stay with him.” Wilford frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m not about ta’ leave him alone like this.” 

“Sorry Wilford,” Dr. Ipler shook his head. “I can’t permit that to anyone but family, it’s a standerd-”

“I’m his brother.” Wilford interrupted. 

“What?” Dr. Iplier looked taken back. “Wilford, you can’t expect me to just believe-”

Once again WIlford interrupted him, pulling out his phone and showing Dr. Iplier a picture of him and the Jims- and Bim from Wilfords last birthday. It might not have been proof they were  _ family _ , per say, but it at least proved they were  _ close _ in some way. 

Dr. Iplier did a double take, leaning back on the balls of his feet. “...Well then.” he finally said. “I suppose as long as you're quiet, I can allow it.”

“Of course.” Wilford promised. “There's no one who can do quiet like Wilford Warfstache. Silence it is. Perfectly silent... Sorry. Sorry. Silence. Do not speak. In the silence. Let the silence descend. Here it comes. One hundred percent silence. From now. Unless I need to tell you something happens with Jim. Otherwise, absolute silence starting... Now."


	2. A broken Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bim would have been the black sheep of the Trimmer family, if it was possible to be more of a black sheep than Wilford Warfstache

Bim Trimmer should have known something was wrong when things got quiet. If there was one thing his family  _ wasn’t _ , it was  _ quiet _ . Jim and Jim were always chasing after some story or another, while Wilford seemed incapable of talking anywhere below a shout. And while Bim liked to think that he was better at avoiding unnecessary attention, he knew he’d rig up a spotlight to shine onto him everytime he entered a room if he could. 

He stopped reading mid-sentence, closing his book and setting it down in his lap. He knew for a fact his brothers would be staying home today, between editing footage and researching possible leads, yet he hadn’t heard a single ‘poof’ or ‘JIM!’ in ages. He was currently stretched out across the couch in their talk show set, which he’d specifically chosen because it was in the middle of everything. If anything huge had happened, he would have heard the shouting. 

No sooner had he noticed the silence than it was broken from a ding from his phone, followed quickly by another. Two texts each from a different Jim, saying the exact same thing. 

Shoving himself up, Bim abandoned his book on the desk and headed straight for Wilfords room. It had, at one point, been a perfectly normal conference room. But in its current state, it looked like a pink tornado had blow through and coated everything in a layer of  _ weird _ . Aside from the one wall all but plastered in paper and red string, the walls were covered in a mismatch of pink paint as if someone had just chucked buckets of it onto the wall (they all had, it was a fond memory of Bims), and the table had been shoved to the side to make room for all the bookcases and filing cabinets Wilford could ever dream of owning. There was even a loud fan sitting on one of the desks that did nothing considering the whole building had a pretty good ventilation system.

Despite the layer of clutter covering every available surface, the coat stood out like a Jim in a library. It was draped over a mannequin that someone had taped a picture of Santa's face to, and stabbed through the chest. Bim wasted no time in grabbing the heavy, candy cane-striped jacket from it’s resting place, draping it over one arm as he turned and made his way out of the room. Now to find Will. 

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he was about to text the first ‘Jim’ on his contact list before rethinking it and texting the second. Camera Jim responded to texts much faster than Reporter Jim, since he could text while holding the camera and the audience would never notice. And sure enough, no sooner had he sent the question than the response came back. 

Changing direction, Bim headed towards the room Wilford liked to use for one-on-one interviews. The lights were off, and if it wasn’t for Camera Jim hovering near the bleacher seating Bim might not have even entered at all. He could just about see flashes of pink in the dark under the seating, right about where he could hear Jim’s voice drifting out.

“Its okay Pink Jim, I’m not going anywhere. I would never leave a fellow Jim behind, why, once I stayed by our cousin Jim’s bed for two days straight while he was recovering from a surgery and read him stories from dear aunt Jim.” Studio Jim’s voice was the only thing clueing Bim in that Wilford wasn’t alone under there. Than, and one Jim was never far from another. They tended to travel in pairs, at minimum. Sometimes one of them if they were with either him or Wilford. “Breath, Pink Jim. Do you wanna go sit on the chairs instead of under them? Jim? No? That’s alright, Pink Jim. We can stay right here if you’d like. Would you like to hear a story from aunt Jim?”

“Wilford.” Bim called gently under the bleachers, stepping into the dark. “I’m here. I’ve got your coat.” His eyes were adjusted to the dark enough that he could see Wilford turn his head slightly towards Bim, hair sticking to his face with sweat. He had a look of dread in his eyes, and his chest was heaving up and down at an aggressive pace. Jim was next to him, holding Wilfords hands and running their fingers together in a way Wilford normally liked to do when he was thinking. “How long?” Bim asked, his voice a whisper as he glanced at Jim. 

“Not sure. Found him like this ten minutes ago.” Jim whispered back. Bim nodded, unfolding the coat and draping it over Wilfords shoulders, letting it settle around his body like a tent. It always had been a little too big for him. Wilford lifted one of his hands to tug it further over his body, looking like he was trying to hide within it. The coat had been a gift from the Jims, years ago, for a successful interview with some slender guy. Something about heroine and child trafficking. Bim had gotten him a gold plated, pearl handled double-barreled over and under derringer at the same party. 

“You’re going to be just fine, Will.” Bim promised, kneeling on the floor next to him. “You’re strong- the strongest out of all of us. Just breathe. Relax, how are you feeling?” 

Instead of an answer, Wilford suddenly jumped forward and wrapped his arms around Bim, curling against his chest. His grip was like iron, but all Bim did was reflexively returned the hug and pat him on the back. At this point there wasn’t much they could do but keeping talking to Will, and wait. It took another fifteen minutes before the demons behind Wilfords eyes faded away completely, and he finally relaxed enough that he wasn’t trying to squeeze all the air out of Bim anymore. 

“Feeling better?” Bim asked. 

“Yeah.” Wilfords voice came out in a whisper, before he cleared his throat and gave a louder. “Why, yes, I do!” that resulted in him coughing into his sleeve. “And I could use some water. It’s, um, rather  _ hot _ under these things.” 

It felt odd to stretch their legs out after sitting under the audience seating, but it did feel much better after another minute anywhere other than that stuffy area. Bim shooed the Jims off so they could go back to their editing, but mostly he just knew from experience that Wilford didn’t like crowds following him around directly after a scare like that, and one Jim following you around tended to multiply pretty quickly.

But he also knew that it took awhile for Willford to get his energy back. Even when he was just filling a glass of water from the sink, his hand was clearly shaking enough Will had to be careful not to spill it on himself. It almost hurt to see Will like this- the strongest out of all of them, moving as if he was made of glass. Wilford Warfstache was a man that was meant to be a loud, energetic, tornado of caos.

“Bim?” 

Bim glanced up at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”

Wilford was looking at the glass of water as if something was hidden at the bottom. “Think we could get some bubbles?” he asked, starting to sound more like himself.


	3. A Jim by Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before he was Cameraman Jim, he used to be nicknamed 'Silent Jim'

There were a lot of rumors about how many Jim’s there were; ranging everywhere from a couple of brothers to a limitless supply. Their family was big, sure, but it was far from  _endless_.

It was like Mom Jim used to say, the more Jims the merrier.  And there was nothing merrier than a gathering of Jims. It didn’t matter if you were Small Jim or Tall Jim, Pretty Jim or Ugly Jim, Pink Jim or Goth Jim, all Jims believed in the values of pure, unbiased entertainment.

Well, save for Bim.

Cameraman Jim focused in on the man tied to his podium, trying to catch his good side. But boy, was he making this difficult. He’d make even Ugly Jim look like Dapper Jim in comparison. The man was the embodiment of greasy, hair matted to the side and scowling in a way that made him sorta resemble a pit bull. It didn’t help that he spat a little while he was yelling.

“YOU TWO TIMING RAT!” The man yelled, pulling against the ropes. He didn’t look very happy to be on TV, normally people were ecstatic to get to be on a game show. Maybe it had something to do with the fact his son had lost the last show they’d filmed, regardless of a sack of money they may or may not have accepted. “We had a _fucking_ deal you _flirtatious little sl-_ ”

“Ooooooooh, looks like ol’ Wilson’s bitter about coming in second that last round.” Bim interrupted, turning to the audience. He smiled at the crowd, causing them to cheer and a few fan boys to swoon from his good looks. “But whaddya say folks, think he can pull ahead?”

Cameraman Jim cut back to the two remaining contestants. Alex Wilson’s score was currently hovering around 289, but every now and then it would ficker and a point or five would be deducted for no reason. Next to him, John Roe was leading strong with a score of 15,700. John was using a pretty smart strategy; complementing Bim every now and then and smiling at him with that same look Flirty Jim gave people.

“Cut the crap!” Wilson snapped, a vein standing out unnaturally on his neck. Cameraman Jim zoomed in on it while the other was talking. “And tell me where the _fuck_ my son is!”

“Sorry, I’m not the one answering questions here.” Bim waved Wilson off, still smiling brightly. Walking backwards, Bim moved towards a table with a platter covered in a domed lid while facing the two remaining contestants. “But, on an unrelated note, I’m bringing back one of our favorite competitions!”

“Sounds fun.” John said, as he seemed to be doing everything to ignore the screaming man next to him.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this one~” Bim said to John, lifting the lid with a flourish and revealing two plates of a rice and meat dish of some kind. The light touch of parsley on the side was the signature touch of Chef Jim. Just filming it was causing Cameraman Jim’s mouth to water, but he wouldn’t have touched it if it was the only meal left in the building.

“Oh, it does look good all right. I can see why this challenge is so popular~” John said, rubbing his hands together while Bim lifted the plates and brought them over to the two podiums. Wilson, on the other hand, was staring at the plate with an expression that was slowly slipping into something more and more horrified.

“Who is this.” Wilson asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Ah, this was actually prepared by a member of my own family, he’s the only chef I trust with my own diet, actually.” Bim explained.

“You- You know what I mean!” Wilson snapped, but the anger in his voice seemed forced this time. Bim merely smiled at him.

“Aaaaaaand we have a winner!” Bim suddenly yelled, stepping around around the podiums to John’s side, lifting his free arm. John’s plate ws empty, and he cleaned off his fingers by putting them in his mouth one by and sucking them clean, looking right at Bim. Bim shivered in excitement, smiling at him before turning to the crowd.

“Well folks, looks like it’s pretty clear cut! The handsome and dashing Roe is in the lead with 17,620 points, while Mr. Wilson barely managed to scrape by with 124 points!” While Bim was talking to the audience, Cameraman Jim cut back to the scores. “Everyone give it up for our willing volunteers and thanks so much for watching! I’m Bim Trimmer, and I’ll see you next time on ‘HIRE-MY-ASS!’”

And just like that, Jim stopped the recording. Editor Jim would have quite the show to put together, especially during that first part when the first contestant had knocked over his podum to escape the tiger taming challenge. He was scheduled to help out Weatherman Jim later today, and Bim was flirting with John. All was right in the world.

“You’re _sick._ ” Wilson growled.

“Oh… you’re still here?” Bim glanced at Wilson, blinking. “I forgot about you, sorry about that.” He said with a smile and shrug, stepping towards the podum. “By the way, if your not going to eat that, I think I’ll just…”

“What the FUCKING HELL IS FUCKING WRONG WITH YOU!” Wilson screamed, causing Bim, who had been reaching for the plate, to pull back. Even John jumped away from the other contestant. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM? WHAT I CAN FUCKING DO TO YOU?”

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Bim said as he brushed his hair to the side. “You’re the guy who tried to hire the Marksman to shoot one of my brothers. You’re _really_ lucky ol’ Marks knows better than to try and harm a Jim- he told me about your deal instead.”

“I WAS PROTECTING MY BUSINESS!” Wilson screamed back, yanking at the ropes. Red marks were starting to appear around where they were biting into his skin where the ropes were tied. “Those Jim’s- their always sticking their noses where they don’t belong, _someone_ had to teach um’ a lesson! If not, one day, they get involved in something that’ll get them _all_ taken out.”

“Is that a threat?” Bim asked camly, crossing his arms. Jim noticed that John had disappeared- good for him. He seemed nice.

“So what if it is?” Wilson snorted. He didn’t seem to realize the danger he was in.

Bim sighed, leaning his head to the side, resting it on his hand. “You know,” he began. “I wasn’t gonna kill your son- but he just _looked so good_ . So…. _tasty_. I haven’t seen anyone that looked like such a prime cut since Matthias~”

The audience laughed and cheered at that. Most of them were too high to even realize what was going on right now.

“You _disgusting_ fuck.” Wilson growled. “I’m going to-”

“You, on the other hand.” Bim continued, interpreting Wilson. “Already look rotten to the core. But my pets shouldn’t mind.”

Stepping forward and taking the plate off Wilsons podum, pressed a button next to him. Below Wilsons feet, the floor opened up to reveal a pool of water. The only thing keeping Wilson from falling in was the fact he was currently tied to the podum attached to the floor just around the water. Bim pulled out a knife from his pocket, smiling at Wilson sweetly.

“They’re always pretty hungry, in fact. But I can understand how they feel- once you’ve tried long pig for the first time, there's no going back.” Bim all but purred, jamming the knife into the ropes and causing them all to snap free. No sooner had Wilson touched the water than he was swarmed with fluffy fish, blood rising to the top of the water as Bim turned away, sighing to himself.

“Oh, Jim, you did turn off the camera after my outro, right?” Bim asked as he stepped off the stage. Cameraman Jim nodded as he started gathering his equipment, while the audience was already being lead out of the studio by Usher Jim. “Good, good. Thank you, Jim.”

Bim turned and headed towards his dressing room with his plate of food. Jim glanced back at him before sliding his bag of equipment over his shoulder and making his way to the editing room.

Yeah, there were alot of Jims. Uncle Jim, Cousin Jim, Sneaky Jim, Weather Jim, Studio Jim, Reporter Jim, Big Jim, Slim Jim, Grandma and Grandpa Jim, Jim, the Other Jim, Jim Jim, Little Jimmy, Cameraman Jim… but there was no one quite like Bad Jim. They called him Bim for short.


End file.
